Tales of King Arthur's Court
by liebedero
Summary: Poetry based on the tales of King Arthur - my OWN tales. Two shot poem. ArthurxGuinevere. I DO NOT like Lancelot. T for destructive themes
1. The Burdens of Arthur the King

The Burdens of Arthur the King

High and mighty,

Upon a steed,

Pure and white,

Did sit he nigh,

In waning light.

His thoughts heavy,

His burden great,

The Lord Arthur

Did sit in wait.

Watching from afar,

His dying kingdom

Once great,

Now in ruins

Afar yonder gate.

The losses bear he

Weighty on his brow,

Of Queen and Country,

Comrades and Vow.

How even now

His hair is grey,

Turning white,

His face lined,

Yet his eyes alight.

Raise he,

Upon clenched fist

The Pendragon signet,

To heaven on high

Whereto prayer he inlist.

The engraved palm,

With line of age,

Scar of battle done,

Still holds strong,

But only for so long.

Betrayal he fear,

For knoweth he

His tyme is near,

And long in coming

His fate be.

The hammer twill fall soon

He knows, for

The Great Man

Has gone, and left is

A Hero, in Woes.

Though Arthur the Brave

He may still be,

His heart weighs heavy;

Conscience bares sin.

He looks not ahead

To see the battle he'll not win.

And in dying light,

He last gazes

Up to heaven high,

Fore turning his back

Towards duty nigh,

Rightfully his yoke.

And to the setting sun,

Give he prayer now

In hope and wish

That loss of all

He may thwart.

In face of storm great,

And before test of fate

He goeth on

Setting upon at hasty rate.

Upon his back

He takes the weight,

And trudged forth

Toward darker days,

Fore the last of the sun

Is dying rays.

And he is man.

Not a great King

Once Lord, now,

Reduced in stature,

He is a figure forged.

Beginneth he his trek

'crost the wide plain.

To battle his own

With sword he'd slay

The greatest and least

His boarders to maintain.

Guinevere the fair

To whom he'd give all life

And knights of table round

Who'd follow him ev'n strife

He rides to protect

Those that he's named

Not the greatest among them

Not be he least in fame

Only a man tis as he remains.

Tested in strength and stature

He prevailed

In light of all hardships

He never once ailed.

A giant among men

He'd once been the least

And walked below them

Never part of the feast

Now rides he forth

Upon steed fair and fine

Towards his fate

A mortality undenied.

Arthur the king

As did leave he then

Arthur a man

Does go he hence

Never to wander

Destination whence.

A man as he goes.

All is grave in his heart

And kind gentle eyes

Gaze onward towards dawn

And the Fire raised

In Camelot's haze.

He is

Arthur the Man,

Not a king,

Yet nothing less.

Alone he remains.

Protector of Lyonesse.

King of Camelot.

Knight of Table Round.

Arthur the Man.

Yet as a King he is bound


	2. The Laments of Guinevere the Fair

The Laments of Guinevere the Fair

The White Lady of Lyonesse

Gwenhwyfar the Fair

Alone siteth she by the fire

Staring out the door; down the stair.

Her chambre is chilled

No warmth form the flame

To thaw her heart stone cold

In light of violence untamed.

The silence is deafening

Till clatter sounds outwith

Growing harrowingly closer

Nothing to save her no steed swift.

Alone she will die

Of Camelot, Queen

Of Lancelot, lover

But not as she'd mean.

Her King she does honour

Lancelot a beast

To defile her spirit

And take her to feast.

Good King Arthur

Gentle and Fair

He loved her as no other

And been never aware.

And now out yon window

Throws she her gaze

To walls of white stone

And fields of graze.

But the walls once proud

Now stain with crimson blood

Of those brave men

Who fought for their God.

A spear headed through

The sterling gate broken

And Mordred places his foot

To skull and bone death's tolken.

The crown of the king

It lies at his feet

And with glinting eyes

Guinevere hear the dread ring.

Of blade and mace

Doth come the peal

On flesh and bone

Sword strike repeal

High up in tower tall

She watches the throes below

Of the Grievances of Guinevere

These be not the only row

'Crost yon gates

Of silver and blood made

Sweeps her view wide

To Lyonesse in wake

Of Mordred's stride

Devestation wraught there

Cannot be denied

Throngs would run rampant

Yet not through raging fire 'pparent.

No echoing cry

Doth the fair Lady hear

In that land she so loves

So far and so near.

The Land, it be run dry

Dust to dust

Ashes to ashes

As all good Christians must.

Gwenhwyfar's crystal tears

Sweet rain for her lands

Her grievances here deep

As Maiden Fair's wounded hands

Deepest scar on heart so fair

As she descends the steps

Gracefully down the stair

To battle bloodied field.

Upon the ground laid bare

The knights of table round

And Camelot fair

Strewn upon Mordred's spears

At evil prince's feet

Where royal crown rests

The King of the Dragon Red

His banner lays; fallen crest

The King of Camelot

Gentle and kind

Great warrior fallen

Upon the ground lies.

This sight her greatest woe

An arrow through pure spirits heart

That embodied devastation;

Her world in throes.

Bittersweet the crystalline drops

Fall heavy in streams

Lady fair's desolation wreaked

The worst by all means.

But as lay she lamenting

'Crost Arthur slewn

Mordred did fall

His veins life blood weeping.

And stands she there

Alone on that field

The anguish tangible

The death and despir.

These be ther Laments of Guinevere


End file.
